I
three months on
we’ve made it out of the group chat
for the hike//sleepover//getaway//
to sit on the steps//rocks//oldwooddeck
gasbagging and checking | our phones |
spasmodically
now |
when the trees sway//leaves
of a different season, and the light bleeds
// softly //
across the hills
like it does every night.
soon//er//or later someone will
spill//or else boil//the jug
for tea.
II
it’s been a while. but here we have all the good aspects collected
and refined
// like honey //
a multitude of flowers
we steep in someone’//s//parents//cousins//uncles spa
the steam // unfurls us // our lashes
// looking up through
at green leaves turning // twirling // over
like | cells | on an excel spreadsheet
slowly syncing
// we let no one see us
like this
but the kererū and the
frogs quietly chirping
down by the dam //
and when the night bugs // dive
bomb grainy
kisses on our arms and necks
we will tell them no. brush them off |
// hop into towels // clammy // dry //
swing // shut the screen door behind us // when
we // laughing // tired
head inside |
fingers twitching // but the
portable charger has died.
a card game?
III
if//where there is a fire//campstove///lighter//lit// we will toast
marshmallows
and share supermarket wine biscuits we will pretend // we all like \\
… this american code for closeness |
in this doc hut//beachhouse//tent
\\grannyflat\\
sonya will let me plait her hair
winding the distance
between now // and home // memories //
popping up in a years time on our insta stories–
here.
in the sunset//substitution
of resin-coloured light…
IV
meanwhile,
the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home
again. meanwhile, down by the creek,
a kōtuku perches on a rotting log./ meanwhile
cicada cheep // echoing the house’s winding down
creak. meanwhile something small and tendril-like
puts out shoots.
someone says quietly, as somewhere in the nearest bay,
as we turn our faces like the moon between hills//hidden gravel beds// empty spaces
and the midges fly we hold inside
// we should do this more
often ~ feel the //slow shifting
yeah // -eah //
mmm.
of sand// //to the tide.
we reply
in the quiet ..
and then we
say goodnight. sad, one some level, to
turn our backs to
the pukeko sky, but we hardly notice.
trusting
each other // the
whenua // will be there
tomorrow.
Molly Laurence
Wellington, NZ
